


Rusakov Chronicles (WIP Title!)

by Ironsides_Dan



Category: Black Sails, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003), Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Age of Sail, Black Sails Inspired, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Nautical, Nautical Stories, Navy, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironsides_Dan/pseuds/Ironsides_Dan
Summary: This is the story of Captain Rusakov, a Russian Privateer/Pirate in the Caribbean. This is a historical fantasy, in that historical places and characters are the backdrop I'm using to tell this story. This work is inspired by Black Sails, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Patrick O'Brian Series, and tons of research on ships and pirates. Feedback is always welcome! While the character is the same, this is not a retelling of the story in "The Distribution of Justice" (which you should check out if you're looking at this work!). Feedback is always welcome! Please, enjoy the story!
Kudos: 4





	1. First Prize

#  **Chapter 1: First Prize**

Captain Juan Gonzales wiped the sweat from his brow. The wind normally kept him cool, but it wasn’t the sun that was to blame for the perspiration adorning his forehead like a wet, smelly mask.

“Captain! She’s gaining on us!”, the first mate shouted.

“Maintain course! Keep her off of us for a few more hours!”, Juan shouted back.

This was supposed to be a simple trip..deliver the cargo from Havana to Santiago. Juan lamented grimly. Juan was a simple merchant sailor, and he didn’t typically take jobs like this. The governor of Havana had paid him handsomely to transport Santiago’s military payroll discreetly aboard his humble brigantine, La Sirena. His vessel was small and unremarkable. It only carried 8 cannons, and they were in poor repair. She was fast when handled correctly, but not nearly as fast as what was chasing her. Juan grimaced. What had he done wrong? A ship of that size clearly couldn’t hide near an inlet or river, the draft was much too deep. He had been sailing this same route for 10 years and had never been boarded or even chased. He glanced behind him and shuddered.

What he was running from was a 24 gun frigate. They were typically employed by all the major powers to protect harbors or escort valuable cargo. When the Spanish Treasure Fleet made its way around the West Indies before crossing the Atlantic to deliver its cargo to Spain, it typically had one or two frigates as an escort. They were fast, heavily armed, and deadly. This frigate, however, wasn’t being crewed by the Spanish Guarda Costa, it was being crewed by a pirate.

“Captain! We’re gaining on her!” the quartermaster yelled.

“Alright Mr. Macmanus! With a little luck, she’ll be ours soon!” Captain Danislav Rusakov said with a grim smile.

Captain Rusakov was not the first pirate to sail these waters. Many others had come before him. Henry Morgan, Laurens de Graff, William Kidd, and the infamous Francois L’olonnais had been the scourge of these waters at one point in time or another. Rusakov was simply a newcomer. However, he intended to make his mark.

“Raise the t’agallants! Let’s coax a little more speed from her lads!” his heavily accented voice roared with the sound of an admiral, but much less formal and dapper. The men heaved and the t’agallants dropped with ease and immediately became full with wind. The ship jerked forward, causing many to lose their footing. Rusakov, however, had braced himself against the wheel. was amiss. Rusakov had studied navigation in St Petersburg, Russia. Tsar Peter the Great had brought in the finest teachers from Holland and England, but there was more to being a pirate than knowing wind patterns and how to exploit them. Rusakov did his best to outwit his prey whenever possible. He had duped the poor captain of this brigantine by hiding in an inslet. It wasn’t on any Spanish maps of the region, and with something as simple as sailcloth and paint, he could make his vessel blend in with the rocky terrain around the inlet. The ruse could only be discovered if the ships had gotten very close. The brigantine had sailed by in such a hurry, even the glare of Rusakov's spyglass hadn’t warned the ship of the predator waiting. After a few hours of dismantling the disguise, he exited the bay and unfurled as much sail as possible in order to catch up. As predicted, the smaller vessel had been taken completely by surprise. As soon as he was close enough to confirm her spanish colors, he raised his own black banner. It had the desired effect and the ship was in a panic.

 _Good_ , Rusakov thought, _it's only a matter of time now_.

Juan gulped as he saw the frigate’s topgallants drop. It was over. He couldn’t outrun that vessel. His cargo was weighing his own ship down and thus had taken away his only advantage. The black flagged frigate grew closer with each passing hour.

 _I’ll be damned if I don’t go down without a fight_ he thought.

“Men! Ready the guns! I don’t plan on letting the governor’s money leave my vessel without resistance!” he barked.

The men went straight to work preparing the cannons to fire. Each man also armed himself with whatever he could find. Due to Spain’s strict regulation of firearms, only Juan was armed with a pistol. A beautiful French flintlock he had purchased in Havana from a vendor. His men, however, were armed with cutlasses, machetes, and a few pikes. They also weren’t hardened veterans of the previous conflict that had been waged in Europe and her colonies, they were average sailors who had maybe gotten into a scrap at the local tavern but nothing beyond that. Hell, he was lucky that they knew how to operate his cannons. Juan himself had been a Guarda Costa Captain before he resigned his commission. He was probably the only one on his ship who knew what was coming. As the frigate approached, he held his breath. Before he could give the order to fire, however, something caught his eye. The frigate was flying a flag he hadn’t wasn’t familiar with. It was black, like most pirate flags, but instead of the usual skull motif, it had a different, more menacing design. A heart, pierced by a sword. Juan looked on in horror as the rest of the billowing flag came into focus. The heart was dripping blood onto an hourglass. He then noticed the name of the ship, painted onto the starboard side near the forecastle (or front structure). It was in a language he was only vaguely familiar with. The Russian cyrillic characters read _морской дьявол_ (phonetically “Marskoy Debil), or _Devilfish_ in English.

Rusakov brought his vessel up to the brigantine. They were about 25 yards away, and their gun ports were open. He had expected this. He saw the captain on deck, his hair tucked back beneath a wide-brimmed hat and his rapier drawn, ready to signal his men to fire. His face however, gave Rusakov the truth: his cannons would not fire. Rusakov nodded at Macmanus, and he screamed “Grapples away! She’s ours lads!”

There was a roar from the pirates as they tossed over ropes with grappling hooks attached to them. They pulled the ships together and quickly boarded. The fight was quick and decisive. Not a single person on the enemy ship had a firearm. Meanwhile, his own crew were armed with pistols and cutlasses and some even carried a boarding ax and a dagger, just in case. Rusakov leaped over the railing and came face to face with a terrified Spaniard armed with a lance. He scoffed as his foe tried to impale him. The tip of the lance was clumsy and predictable, and Rusakov waited for the Spaniard to extend too far before closing in and removing his right arm with one quick motion of his cutlass. There was screaming coming from both sides, and that’s how he liked it. Chaos allowed him to slowly make his way up to the enemy captain. He smiled and laughed as he approached, using the smaller vessel’s rail to wipe the blood from his blade.

Juan looked at the monster in front of him. He had witnessed him cut down one of his men with ease and efficiency.

 _This must be the captain_ , he thought.

The man in front of him couldn’t be a day older than 25. His beard was trimmed short, just barely passing the corners of his mouth and ever so slightly passing his chin. He wore a faded red jacket and a dark green linen shirt underneath. His trousers were brown and tucked into black, leather, curled-toed boots that sounded ominous against the deck. His dark green sash was clearly from the Far East, and his hat was most peculiar.It was a gray fur cap, the only ornaments were a brass brooch in the shape of a ship, and a feather tucked behind it, extending diagonally to the right.This ensemble however, wasn’t his concern. He carried two pistols in a baldric across his chest, a third pistol with an astounding four barrels tucked into a hide leather belt, and a cutlass. The pirate’s blade was painted a wicked black, and had an unassuming guard that covered most of the pirate’s hand. Juan drew his pistol and pulled the trigger. There was a spark, but no explosion or puff of smoke. The pirate captain laughed and lunged in, using his blade to knock the useless pistol out of Juan’s left hand. Juan recovered and attempted the defensive maneuvers he had been taught by his mentor before he had become a privateer. He tried to sidestep, but ran into another man, knocking him over and taking Juan off guard. Before he could process this, the pirate lunged in with a savage chop aimed at Juan’s head. He ducked, and all the pirate’s blade hit was his hat, which tumbled uselessly over the side. Juan righted himself and took a stance, his feet spread shoulder length apart, and his rapier held out horizontally in front of him.

Rusakov scoffed. This Spaniard was trying to use dueling techniques on a ship, as if this was both the time and the place for an honor-bound duel between nobles of warring houses. While the rapier was well suited for that style of combat, this wasn’t the courtyard of a governor’s manor or the streets of Madrid. This was a ship, a cramped, claustrophobic, chaotic place by comparison, and Rusakov’s cutlass’ preferred environment. The Spanish Captain feinted a thrust, then retreated and attacked from the left. Rusakov answered with a parry and attempted the same technique he had used on the man with the pike. The captain easily parried it off, but couldn’t capitalize due to being too close to properly lunge again, at least too close to lunge without risking his head being taken off. At that moment another Spaniard rushed in to aid his captain, and Rusakov drew the pistol from his belt and shot him in the head without taking his eyes off his foe. The man crumpled uselessly to the deck as the Spaniard lunged again. The exchange went like this for several minutes. Another man rushed to aid their captain, and was dispatched in the same manner as the first. Just as Rusakov was starting to back his prey into a corner, a hatched opened up to his left and three more men scrambled out armed with knives. Juan watched in horror as Rusakov drew his last pistol, the one with four barrels, and quickly took aim from the hip, barrels pointed at the men’s legs. There was a thundering noise as all four barrels exploded to life and the men collapsed, all clutching their legs in agony. Juan recognized immediately what the weapon was, a volley pistol loaded with shot. It had acted like grape shot from a cannon, shredding the poor men’s legs and rendering them useless. In an attempt to capitalize on Rusakov’s momentary distraction, Juan lunged in with his rapier to end the life of the pirate who had dared board his ship, but he overextended his reach, and with a quick flick of his wrist, Rusakov disarmed his foe and then kicked him into the corner of the rear deck..

Juan grunted and collapsed into the corner. He instinctively reached for his rapier, but the pirate kicked it aside. He stifled a scream, and tried to scoot back, but his back stopped at the back of the ship. The pirate stepped forward, but before a finishing blow could be delivered, one of the pirates dropped dead from a machete wound next to Juan. The pirate had a pistol tucked into his sash. Juan quickly reached for the pistol and snatched it from the dead man’s body and took aim. The pistol went off, but instead of hitting the captain’s chest, it hit the cutlass’ guard, causing the captain to drop his weapon. Juan watched the weapon hit the deck with a satisfying clang, and looked up, hoping his men would finish the job. His heart dropped at the visage before him. The fighting had ceased, and what was left of his crew had surrendered. The pirate captain took a step forward and took a knee in front of Juan.

“You nearly had me mate,” the pirate said in a low voice, thick with malice and panache. “However, your luck seems to have left you behind.” Juan watched in horror as the pirate captain began to reload each of his pistols. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.” Juan said, his head hanging in shame. Rusakov looked curiously at him, then spoke as he finished loading his volley pistol. “If I kill you, who is going to tell the governor of Santiago that his soldiers won’t be receiving wages? Who is going to tell the idiot governor in Havana who discovered his plan to move said soldiers’ wages aboard an unassuming brigantine?” He pulled out a pipe and lit it before signaling to his men. “You were an _almost_ worthy foe. You can tell the governor you put up a fight so your job and reputation should be secure. However, should we cross paths again, I may not be as merciful as I am feeling presently.” Before Juan could say anything, he was grabbed by pirates and taken back to the frigate, pondering the captain’s words as he was put in chains. Rusakov and Macmanus started aiding the crew in looting the brigantine, starting with the Captain’s Quarters.

“Captain, your lead was correct! There’s a king’s ransom in gold and silver here!” Macmanus said, with a hint of glee in his voice as he peered into one of many chests. “What kind of idiot puts all of this money onto a small, poorly armed ship like this?”

Rusakov was busy looking at the ship’s log. He looked up at Macmanus and smiled.

“As expected, this was meant to pay the militia in Santiago. The governor must have figured nobody would have suspected a small brigantine to carry anything more than a few sacks of sugar and a few casks of rum.” He said plainly.

Macmanus grinned. “Congratulations sir, your first prize will definitely secure your seat as captain for awhile now. Keep scoring ships like this and you’ll soon be the most notorious man in the Spanish main.”

“Enough groveling Mr. Macmanus” Rusakov jabbed, “Let’s get this loaded up and head for Nassau. Word will spread and I intend to walk on that beach as if I just robbed Christ himself.”


	2. The Laughing Gull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rusakov brings his Prize back to Nassau, and meets some faces familiar to those with knowledge of the period.

**_Chapter 2: The Laughing Gull_ **

The _Devilfish_ slowly pulled into Nassau, it was late and the crew was eager to divide the plunder and head to the nearest tavern and/or brothel. Nassau was an old english colony, before it was taken over by pirates and used as a base of operations. Any pirate in the West Indies could call Nassau home, provided that he contributed to both the defense and security of Nassau. Long gone were the ports of Tortuga and Port Royale, where the towns were led by a shady governor more interested in making profits instead of hanging pirates. Nassau had no real governor. Nassau had no taxes or garrisons, it was the start of a Pirate Republic. 

As the ship anchored and the loot was divided up, the ship’s officers took a boat ashore and headed for _The Laughing Gull_ , one of the island's more “respectable” taverns. Rusakov walked ahead of the group, followed by Seamus Macmanus (the Quartermaster), and the ship’s pilot. Her birth name was Katian Loup, however, the crew knew her as “The Wolf”. While she was the ship’s pilot, meaning that she was in charge of plotting courses, reading and maintaining the maps aboard the ship. She was also one of the most skilled combatants on the ship. She was so skilled, in fact, that she, at the age of 21, already had a reputation amongst the pirates in Nassau. She wore her gold gossamer hair long, typically tied in a braid, and with her bangs covering her left side of her face. Her piercing silver eyes were enough to drain the soul from man, or at least that’s what the crew claimed. She stood about five foot, eleven inches tall and was athletically built. 

Next to her was Seamus Macmanus, he served as the Quartermaster of the _Devilfish_ . His blonde hair was cropped short, and he wore a long, scraggly beard that was kept somewhat in order. He stood about the same height as Rusakov, at five foot, nine inches tall and was stocky. Years at sea had made his body adjust with a firm back and strong arms and legs. As the Quartermaster, he was the crew’s representative to the Captain. His position was to keep the Captain in check and keep the crew’s pockets full of gold. If there was a conflict of interest between Captain and Crew, Seamus was the one who would help resolve it. He could remove the Captain from power (provided the ship wasn’t in battle, in which the Captain had absolute authority) by calling a vote. If the crew’s new choice had more votes than the current Captain, he or she was removed from the position. Seamus had met Rusakov in Nassau a year earlier, back when he was Captain of a sloop called _Libertalia_ with nothing but 8 guns and 25 men. Seamus’ weapon of choice was a typical cutlass and a boarding axe. He admired the versatility it offered him in close quarters, and used it with such savage fury that he had “tyr” the Norse god of war, inscribed on the handle. His attire consisted of a black jacket and headwrap, tan shirt, and dark brown breeches tucked into a pair of heavy boots.

The three entered the tavern and sat down at a table and ordered. While they were waiting, they went over the condition of the ship and crew.

“I looked over the stores before I came ashore Cap’n, and it would be my ‘professional’ opinion that before we set sail that we take on more hemp rope and pitch. The ship will need to be careened and we need more powder. This spanish shite we keep stealing is more prone to fizzling than actually firing a shot.” Macmanus’ voice was crude and carried a deep Irish accent. While he sounded formal, it was clear that he had no problem saying things as he saw them. 

Before Rusakov could speak up, Katian provided her report:

“We also are in desperate need of new maps. I’m sick and tired of trying to desperately translate Spanish to English every time I need to figure out where the shoals and sandbars are. Our charts are horridly outdated and smell like they were taken from a horses arse. If I am to continue navigating in a somewhat safe manner I need English or Dutch charts. It’s only a matter of time before we hit an uncharted reef!”. Her voice was flat and straight to the point, while her french accent made it sound more like a sonnet than a report.

Rusakov rubbed his temples trying to process it all. 

“Did we make enough as far as crew shares are concerned to refit and improve the ship? That’s all I needed to know.” He said grimly. 

Katian and Seamus both looked at each other. “Yes.” They said in unison before realizing that they had spoken at the same time. They shared a silent look, neither Adrian or Katian said anything before they looked back at their captain. 

Katian was the first to continue on the conversation,”But yes, as I mentioned before, the charts we currently have are unreliable. Not only do they lack the aforementioned shoals and sandbars, but also where the Natives like to build their villages. After what they did to L’olonnais I’d rather not become the main course for some unhappy, cannibalistic tribe. ” She was about to start another long speech about how the logs and maps should really be managed, but Seamus cut her off, ”Enough of that. We just got into port, take a damn break.” She scowled at him and he simply returned it with his usual bored look. 

“You really are a navy brat.” Rusakov chuckled at the two. 

Katian shot him a scowl as well,”What of it? I do my job, and I do it well. I fail to see a problem with my actions. Do you, Capitan?” Rusakov and Seamus shared a silent look, the kind of exchange one can only have with someone after a few long voyages together.

After a moment they both started to chuckle causing their female companion to look at them confused, and still thoroughly irritated. “You need to learn to relax. You work hard, and that’s good, but you also need to focus on something else once in a while.” Rusakov laughed. Seamus nodded and chimed in,”Aye lassie, enjoy land while we’re on it. The long voyages can go to your head after so long.”

“I can relax just as well as anyone else,” her silver orbs cut a glare towards her quartermaster,”and I am quite capable of having fun. Not everyone who’s sailed a royal vessel is a boring stuffed shirt.” 

Her companions let out a few laughs,”I’ll believe it when I see it missy.” Seamus smirked, earning a small growl from the young woman beside him. 

Rusakov smiled and signaled for a barmaid. “Rum, and three glasses if you please. We are celebrating the taking of our first prize.” 

Before he could say anything more, he felt a heavy hand clasp down on his shoulder.

“Your first prize eh? And what sort of prize did you take laddie?” a rough, deep voice said behind him.

Katian went to draw a pistol, but Seamus smiled and signaled her to stop.

“Nothing much Cap’n. Just the military payroll for Santiago.” Seamus replied with a smile on his lips.

The man behind Rusakov grinned and took a seat. He wore a battered leather tricorn and a black jacket. He was tall, almost six foot, five inches. He had broad shoulders and a black beard that covered his face but hadn’t grown past his jawline. He carried a brace of two pistols on a bandolier and a broad, straight bladed cutlass on his left hip. When he smiled, his teeth were yellowing and his breath foul.

“Little Russie here took a galleon?” the man said, chuckling with disbelief.

“Actually, the governor hid it on a brigantine, barely armed and with just enough crew to sail her. He didn’t wish to arouse suspicion. Unfortunately for the governor, Katian here was working for his secretary before she found her way onto my ship, and was able to tip me off as to what he was planning.” Rusakov clapped Katian on the shoulder as he said this, and looked into the man’s dark blue eyes. “Surely a better score than you’ve taken in three months, Captain Thatch.”

The man smiled, then stood up. “Attention patrons of this fine establishment! I have an announcement!” Thatch’s voice roared like a cannon through the tavern, and everybody stopped to listen. “Our newest member has just taken his first prize! He’s officially one of us now lads! Everybody give an old sea dogs welcome to Captain Rusakov!”

The tavern erupted with a roar of cheers and laughter, and some of the other “members” came up to congratulate Rusakov. Among them were all the current members of the Council of Nassau, Benjamin Hornigold, Charles Vane, Jack Rackham, and now, Rusakov. After the initial cheers died down, all the Captains sat down at the table and Hornigold began to speak.

“You’re part of the Council now, Rusakov. You will have a voice in how affairs are run here. If our republic is to last, we need to be able to supply our port and trade with other colonies. As a member, a piece of your share from every prize taken will be taken into the account of the island and used to provide anything the Republic needs.” He retained some notion of classic english propriety, and his accent suggested he may have had a formal education like Rusakov had, but Hornigold’s voice also portrayed years of experience on the seas. As he finished his sentence he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. “These are the Articles we have all signed. If we don’t band together we may lose this port to one of the major powers in these waters. I know the thought of a government is unpopular around here, but-“, before Hornigold could finish, Rusakov was signing his name on the document. 

“I understand why, Captain, and am pledging myself and my ship to the prosperity of Nassau. It’s the least I can do for even considering me for the Council in the first place. One small share of my prizes is a small price to pay for having a port that doesn’t want to see me hanged from the gallows.”, Rusakov said briskly and pushed the paper back to Hornigold. He then continued, “I’m assuming all of you would like to inspect my ship?”

Charles Vane was the first to speak up in his gravelly voice: “What’s so special about a sloop? They are a dime a dozen in these waters.”

Thatch was the only one who was catching on. “I don’t think he’s at the helm of the _Libertalia_ anymore Captain Vane.” He said with a smile.

Rusakov, Katian, and Seamus all escorted the Council down to the beach, where the _Devilfish_ was anchored just offshore. 

“Jesus man! How in the hell did you acquire a frigate? She’s probably carrying what, thirty-two or thirty-six cannon?” Vane spat out, being unable to control his disbelief.

“She’s carrying twenty-four, and she’s Russian built, but I took her from a Spaniard. She was promised to me when I first arrived in these waters. However, there were...complications.” Rusakov said with a scowl. “How the Spanish founded an Empire out here is astonishing, seeing as they keep their ships in complete disrepair and then wonder why they are so easy to take.”

“She was promised to you? Who would promise a pirate a ship like that?” Vane demanded again.

“ _That_ is my business. As a member of the Council, I can tell a small portion of my purpose in these waters but only behind closed doors.” Rusakov said calmly as he took out his pipe and lit it before the group headed back to the _Laughing Gull_. They went upstairs into the private room, and Rusakov, along with Katian, Seamus, and the Council each took a seat as Rusakov locked the door. He took a long draw from his pipe, and reached into his coat pocket.

“My arrival in the New World was no accident. It was by design.” he unfolded the paper and set it on the table. “This is a Letter of Marque from Tsar Peter the Great. It was given to the Captain of the ship that we took to the New World. However, things didn’t go as planned…”


End file.
